Alpine Ice
by BitShifter
Summary: Steed flies high. Emma gives and receives. /The conclusion of 'The Ladja' trilogy./
1. Chapter 1

**"Alpine Ice"**

An Avengers Fanfiction

_The tenth in a series of adventures designed to bridge the year and a half between broadcast episode 3.26, "Lobster Quadrille" (Cathy Gale, March 1964), and episode 4.01, "The Town Of No Return" (Emma Peel, September 1965)_

**Disclaimer:** Some copyrighted characters have been borrowed

_A quick recap of the saga so far. Hotshot pilot Squadron Leader Peter Peel is an undercover operative for the British Ministry of Defence when an experimental Russian prototype plane he is stealing goes down in the Amazon. In actuality, Peel is deep-cover KGB agent Pyotr Pehlovich, brought up in England from an early age, and instructed to marry Emma Knight, daughter of the wealthy industrialist. His wife knows nothing of his secret life as an agent for either government; she thinks he is merely a test pilot for the RAF. When Pehlovich learns that the higher-ups in the Ministry have discovered that he is a double agent, he stages the crash in the Amazon to fake his own death. He then assumes the identity of 'The Ladja' ('The Rook') and begins operating directly for the KGB._

_The Ministry quickly learns of Pehlovich's defection and comes up with the idea of manipulating their top troubleshooter, John Steed, to take on Emma Peel as his new partner. After luring away Steed's current assistant, librarian Rita Fox, the Ministry arranges for Steed to work with Emma in direct opposition to The Ladja. This serves a two-fold purpose: Emma's presence makes it difficult for Pehlovich to counter Steed, since he is afraid of hurting his wife; and it also plays upon his jealousy, tempting him to return to the Ministry to resume his life as Peter Peel—as a double agent for Britain, of course._

_Neither Steed nor Emma suspect the true identity of the Ladja, and Pehlovich decides to keep it a secret in the hope of eventually reuniting with his wife._

**December 1964**

_Steed flies high. Emma gives and receives._

"When I asked you over, Mrs. Peel, I didn't mean at eight A.M. on a Saturday." Steed pulled his navy silk dressing gown tighter around him as he looked into the radiant face at his front door.

"Happy holidays, Steed," she said cheerfully, planting a faux kiss on the tip of his nose.

"Happy holidays, Mrs. Peel." He leaned in and his lips delicately brushed hers. Emma's heart stopped beating for a moment and her eyes expressed her surprise. Steed merely grinned and pointed his index finger upward; she followed it to the sprig of mistletoe hanging overhead.

"Bad luck to break tradition," he explained levelly.

"Indeed." She gave him a winsome smile. "I'm feeling luckier already."

Steed took her long wool coat and the fur stole he had given her in Paris and draped them over the railing. Emma loitered in the living room as he retreated to his bedroom for more clothes. She idly examined his model of the _H.M.S. Victory_ as she waited.

"The message you left with my service yesterday made it sound urgent," she called to him.

"Nothing so sinister," Steed answered back from the other room. "Just a target of opportunity presenting itself."

"Well, it will have to wait until the New Year," Emma chided. She gravitated towards the large telescope near the window as Steed re-entered the room. She peered through the eyepiece.

"Spying on the neighbors? Naughty, Steed."

He ambled over beside her. "Scientific research only," he explained. "Used for studying heavenly bodies."

Emma focused it on a window across the way where a young blonde could be seen taking a shower. "I see what kind of heavenly bodies you're interested in." She moved her head aside so Steed could take a peep through the objective.

"Good heavens!" he exclaimed in astonishment.

"A-ha," Emma teased. "Just as I thought."

"I hope she remembers to scrub her back."

"You are not permitted to volunteer assistance. Where's Miss Irinova?"

"Our Russian racer is off to Swansea."

"Why do all the women in your life seem to disappear into Wales?"

"Just call me Ahab," he grinned.

"Is there some sort of Welsh National Swim Team?"

"You mean something like 'The Stroking Corgis'?" Steed said wryly. "Not quite. She's working with Miss Fox on some Ministry thing," he explained as he walked into the kitchen. "So now I'm out a breakfast cook."

"Do I detect a plea for domestic assistance?"

Steed gave her a dazzling smile. "If you would be so kind..."

"Only because it's the Christmas season," she scolded. "Think of it as a stocking-stuffer."

"You're my favorite stocking-stuffer, Mrs. Peel," he said cheerily.

Emma wrinkled her delightfully upturned nose. "I'll fill you up while you fill me in." She started a kettle of water on the stove before pulling an iron skillet from a wall hook. A quick trip to the refrigerator, and she returned with her arms full of ingredients. The skillet was sizzling hot before she started heaping in their breakfast fare.

Steed stepped up behind her and put an arm delicately around her waist. She didn't move away. He leaned in over her shoulder.

"What are you making?"

"A little something I like to call a 'hamlet'—a ham and egg omelet."

"...And flights of cholesterol sing thee to thy rest," Steed quipped.

"All it needs now is some cheese..."

Emma turned away to rummage through the refrigerator again. "You're a bit short-stocked," she commented. "All you have is Swiss."

"Speaking of Swiss," Steed said smoothly, "how would you like a holiday in Geneva?"

"Ah, now your sneaky plan reveals itself. It's only two days until Christmas," she pointed out.

"Hence, the holiday."

"More disappearing file clerks?"

Steed shook his head. "Danse Macabre," he said mysteriously.

Emma picked up on the reference. "The phony Swiss bank notes The Ladja printed."

Steed nodded. "The file clerks want to know where the pipeline leads."

Emma jauntily flipped an omelet into the air and caught it with the spatula before easing it back down to the pan. Steed inclined his head in approval as she sketched a quick curtsy.

"I thought we agreed it led into a numbered account in Zurich," she continued.

"Our guess was wrong," Steed said evenly. "The Swiss authorities claim they can detect no unusual cash deposits that could devalue their currency. So the money must be used to buy something—something which is passed on through the Iron Curtain."

Emma slid the two flawless omelets onto a plate and set them down on the table in front of Steed. She took the chair opposite him and handed him one of the two forks she held.

"Your weapon, sir." She waited until he had finished the first bite, anticipating his verdict.

"Delicious, Mrs. Peel." He smacked his lips appreciatively. "Ham, egg, and cheese, living together in harmony."

She smiled in return and dug into the other omelet. "If the money's not landing directly in Switzerland, it must wind up in a nearby country," she offered.

Steed nodded in agreement. "The number one candidate is Belgium," he said. "There's been a sharp increase in currency conversion in the past month."

Emma was intrigued, but wasn't going to be talked into anything that easily. "So what makes you think I'd be interested in a trip to Switzerland?"

"It would give you another chance to foil your arch-nemesis, The Ladja."

Her face indicated that Steed had touched a nerve. "Something about his manner gets under my skin," she explained. "The treason, the betrayal—I don't know why, but I seem to take it all personally. And I don't even work for the Ministry." She waved a forkful of omelet at him for emphasis. "Your poorly-veiled attempts to dragoon me notwithstanding," she added with a wink.

Steed sipped delicately at his tea. "I thought maybe you'd like another shot at our double agent," he continued. "Metaphorically speaking, of course."

Emma remembered how in the heat of battle in Paris, she had been fully prepared to shoot down her foe. "It's my fault," she said forcefully. "I should have been aiming at his leg, or shoulder, not his head. I let him get away scot-free."

"He wasn't entirely unscathed. I made sure that he was seeing red after our little encounter."

Emma smiled, recalling the staining ink that Steed had used to cover The Ladja. "And I managed to give him a good, firm knee directly in the spot that Marina would call his 'henhouse'."

Steed smiled. "So it's entirely possible that The Ladja will be lying low for a while. In more ways than one."

"Perhaps. But he seems to enjoy taking a personal interest in his projects. I wouldn't be surprised if he was waiting nearby, in the wings." Emma looked deep into Steed's twinkling gray eyes. He grinned back at her.

"Free fare, free food, free room," he teased.

Emma sighed. "Steed, Knight Industries makes more money in one hour than this trip would cost for both of us." She gazed distantly as she stirred her tea. "But your offer is accepted."

-oOo-

Vasily frowned as he trudged beside his superior through the snow in Antwerp. "This is the last of the counterfeit notes," he cautioned. "Gogol will not be pleased."

The Ladja pulled his coat tighter around him. "The KGB knew that it was only a matter of time before the Paris operation was discovered." He turned towards a nearby doorway, indicating they had arrived at their destination. "All Steed did was accelerate the timetable. An unfortunate occurrence for us, and one we should make him pay for."

Vasily nodded. "I put a bomb in his apartment. Perhaps he is dead already."

Pehlovich shook his head. "The intelligence from Moscow says otherwise. And the KGB would be the first to know."

"Gogol must like you a great deal, Pyotr. Otherwise, you would have been sent to the _zona_ long ago. If I were you, I'd get used to this snow."

"I'm no good to him in a gulag, and he knows this," Pehlovich answered evenly. His ice-blue eyes flashed briefly.

Vasily looked into The Ladja's face, noting that it was much redder than could be accounted for by the cold. "When is that ink going to fade away?" he asked.

Pehlovich bristled at what was obviously a sore subject. "Bring the money upstairs," he ordered, indicating the case that Vasily held. "There we will turn it into something that will make even Gogol happy."

-oOo-

Emma threw open the sliding glass doors of her hotel room and stepped out onto the balcony. Steed's room was next to hers and shared the same balcony; he was already dressed and seated at a small table drinking tea. She ignored him and pranced out to the railing. The morning sun was shining through her thin nightgown, offering an enticing view of her curvy silhouette. She marveled at the crystal reflections coming off the surface of Lake Geneva.

"Isn't it breathtaking, Steed?" she said excitedly.

He took in her revealing outline. "Sheer perfection, Mrs. Peel," he offered wryly.

The cold finally hit her, and she ducked back inside to throw on a thick terrycloth robe before taking the seat opposite him. He poured her a cup of tea; she took it with both hands, savoring its warmth.

"Mmm. Just the way I like it. So, what's on the agenda for today?"

"I could always use a new clock for my sideboard," he said casually. "The old one has been running a bit slow of late."

She helped herself to a biscuit and gestured at him pointedly. "We're here to try to stop a potential smuggling operation, and you want to buy a clock?"

Steed shot her a meaningful glance.

"I see," she said. "Must be another one of those sneaky file clerks stationed out here."

Steed nodded. "They all report to Z Branch in Zurich, our principal operation here in Switzerland."

Emma wagged the lapel of her robe at him. "I'll need time to get ready," she said.

"We can meet downstairs in an hour," Steed smiled. "I'll have a car brought round."

An hour later, Emma strolled into the hotel lobby. She was immaculate in brown leather pants and a cream-colored sweater. On her feet were the white ankle boots she favored. Her auburn hair swished lightly from side to side as she walked.

Steed held the glass door open for her. As she passed through, he gave her an appreciative glance. The leather pants were lustrous and tight across her backside and thighs. Steed focused his attention on them, checking out both front and rear. When he looked up, her eyes were locked on his. The look of amusement on her face indicated that she knew he had been staring at her.

"See anything interesting?"

"No room for the Beretta down there," Steed said levelly. "Must be somewhere on your torso."

Emma shook her head. "I've sworn off guns for this trip. If we meet The Ladja, you'll have to settle it with fisticuffs."

"You will be in my corner, won't you Mrs. Peel?"

She smiled dazzlingly. "You can count on it."

A black Porsche 356C was parked by the curb. Emma looked it over with admiration. "That's no rental," she observed. "Do you have a car stowed in every city around the world?"

"Only the ones with roads," he said. "Ox-carts everywhere else." He put the car into gear as they drove off.

"Any particular shop in mind?" she asked.

Steed grinned as he executed a flawless racing change.

"The smart money says, 'Buy a clock from Ezekial Toch.'"

-oOo-


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The Porsche was moving slowly through the thick snow on the outskirts of Geneva. Recent plowing had caused wall-like banks to form on either side of the road, giving the impression that the car was traveling through a corridor. Emma sighed at the view out of the passenger window; she couldn't see any landscape, only dirty white ice.

They crested a hill and suddenly the valley was spread out below them. There was a small town composed of comfortable cottages with plumes of smoke coming from their chimneys. Steed drove down the main street and pulled to a stop in front of a quaint Swiss chalet. The faded lettering on the sign above the door spelled out 'CLOCKS', then below that, 'Ezekial Toch, Proprietor'.

Steed held the wooden door open for Emma as they entered a brightly-lit interior filled with shelves full of clocks. A wooden counter ran the entire length of the opposite wall. In the center, a short man with jeweler's-loupe goggles was hunched over a complicated mechanism. He looked up, saw Steed's bowler, and immediately addressed them in English.

"My name's Ezekial Toch," he said cheerily. "Rhymes with Bach."

Emma arched her eyebrow in skepticism. "Is that your real name?"

"Indeed it is, Madam. Excuse me, but will you hold this perfectly still for a moment?" He handed her the clock he was working on and pulled up a folding section of the counter. He trotted over to a coat rack and donned a pair of earmuffs before returning to his original spot.

"Are your ears susceptible to the cold, Mr. Toch?" Emma asked.

"3... 2... 1...," he counted under his breath.

The room was instantly filled with sound as every clock went off simultaneously. There were bells, buzzers, Westminster chimes, and enough cuckoos to fill a small aviary. Emma winced, but she dared not shake the clock she had been handed. Steed gallantly stepped forward and covered her ears with his hands, pressing in on her auburn hair until the din had subsided.

Mr. Toch removed his earmuffs and reached over to take the clock back from Emma. "Noon is always the toughest," he said.

"You could have warned me," she answered tartly.

"Sorry; it's every man for himself at the top of the hour. Now, what can I do for you two?"

Steed leaned casually against the counter. "I'm John Steed. This is Mrs. Peel."

"Out shopping on Christmas Eve, I see. Looking for that last-minute gift?"

"I need a new clock for my sideboard," Steed continued. "The old one is running seventeen minutes too slow."

"Seventeen, eh?" Ezekial grinned. "I've been expecting you." He searched through a drawer until he found a manila envelope. "Z Branch in Zurich has information that the KGB is making an exchange at an air museum just a few miles north of here."

"Exchange? Of what?" Emma asked.

"That's the question, isn't it?" He went back to fixing his clock. "We don't know."

Steed examined the contents of the envelope. "What can you tell us about this air museum?"

"It's an old Swiss Air Force base that was converted for public shows. There's an RAF exhibit there this week—vintage planes from both World Wars."

Steed raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps I'll see some of my old squadron there."

Emma looked surprised. "You were in the RAF?"

"I have been many things in many places, Mrs. Peel." He gently placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her towards the door.

Mr. Toch didn't look up from his work. "Good luck," he said brightly in way of farewell.

-oOo-

Steed had pulled the Porsche around to the military entrance to the airfield. The credentials he supplied to the guards were sufficient to cause the gate to be immediately raised.

"Who did you tell them you were?" Emma teased.

"Air Marshall Johann Von Steed."

"And they believed you?"

"I have a very trustworthy face."

"Oh, if they only knew you like I do," she said in mock lament.

A row of quonset huts were all marked with the white cross in a red circle of the Swiss Air Force. Steed drove past them and parked just behind the largest of the aircraft hangars. The airfield was filled with a collection of planes from the Wars: Avro and Nieuport biplanes, Sopwith Camels, Supermarine Spitfires, Hawker Hurricanes, Bristol Beaufighters, and even a Lancaster Bomber.

Emma linked her arm through Steed's as he led the way to the main hangar. She looked excitedly at all of the aircraft.

"Which of these can you fly?" she asked.

"I'm sure I could get any of them into the air," Steed answered wryly. "It's the landing I wouldn't be too certain about."

The flight equipment on the display tables caught Emma's eye as they entered the exhibit area. "I never really thought much about the history of flying before. Whenever I went to the base with Peter, all I ever saw were jets," she commented. "What are we looking for, anyway? Or should I say who?"

"There was a photo in the envelope of the KGB's contact here—a pilot," Steed explained.

"You should have shown it to me," she scolded.

"No need," Steed said evenly. "There he is."

In a deserted corner of the hangar, a man in a pilot's uniform was talking to someone. The other man had dark hair and wore a trenchcoat, but his back was turned so neither Steed nor Emma could see his face. In one hand he held a large canvas sack; he let the pilot peek inside. No doubt the contents were the items to be smuggled. Emma unlinked her arm from Steed's and started moving stealthily along the wall, hiding behind some storage crates as she neared the two men. Steed approached them with a smile on his face.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," he said by way of distraction. The pilot immediately ran, while the other reached inside his coat for a weapon as he prepared to turn and fire. Emma quickly stepped in and chopped his neck with the edge of her hand, then dropped into a low crouch and swung her leg in a roundhouse kick, sweeping his feet out from under him. The man hit the ground and groaned once before passing out. Emma stood and brushed the dust from her leather pants as Steed kneeled down beside the motionless figure.

"Is it him?" she asked eagerly. The thought that she might have captured The Ladja had made her giddy.

"Wrong eye color," Steed said. "And he has a moustache. An old friend of ours, I think." He briefly turned the man's head so Emma could see his face.

"The KGB man from Tokyo and Paris," she declared. "And one of the Ladja's top henchmen."

"Don't forget Vasily."

"He may be waiting nearby. Mr. Toch's information was certainly spot on. What about the pilot?" Emma asked.

"He's probably phoning The Ladja right now, assuming that our diabolical mastermind isn't already here somewhere. We'd better not tarry too long." Steed picked up the canvas sack and peered inside. A boyish grin crept across his face, but he didn't say a word. He playfully extended the open bag for Emma to dip her hand inside.

"Go ahead," he prompted with a smile. "They won't bite."

Emma's eyes widened as she reached in and pulled out two large diamonds. She gazed at them in wonder for a moment before holding one up to each of her delectable lobes. "What do you think, Steed? Dangles, or posts?"

"Both. One for casual, one for best."

"How many are in there?"

Steed shook his head in amazement. "Must be a million pounds worth."

"And he's just toting them around in a gunnysack."

"It certainly doesn't draw any attention to them, like a velvet-lined leather briefcase would," Steed reasoned. He examined a tag attached to the drawstring on the bag, then showed it to Mrs. Peel.

"What's that mean?" she asked. "K-4807?"

Steed gave her a thoughtful look. "Locker number? Safe deposit box?"

"I think I might be able to persuade our KGB friend to give us a hint," Emma offered, casually nudging the prone body with her toe.

"You'll have to wait until he regains consciousness first," Steed grinned. He scanned the hangar. "Maybe it's something nearby."

Emma started checking the labels on the storage crates while Steed took the lockers on the far wall. He returned after a few minutes.

"Nothing," he said tonelessly.

But Emma was looking off in the distance, through the hangar door. Her attention was focused on an antiquated biplane at the far end of the tarmac.

"Steed, I've hit the jackpot."

He followed her eyes, then nodded as he saw what she had seen. "Remind me to buy you a ticket in the next Irish Sweepstakes." He strolled towards the plane that had 'K-4807' painted boldly on its side.

"What do you know," he mused. "A pipeline in the sky."

Emma briefly considered tying up the KGB man, then decided he would be out for at least another ten minutes. She sprinted along after Steed.

"What is this, a World War I biplane?" she asked.

"World War II, actually. We used these as trainers in the RAF."

"You fought in World War II?"

"A lad so young, I had to sit on a copy of War and Peace to see the controls," Steed answered jovially. "This is a Tiger Moth. Pilot sits in back, trainee in the front."

Emma climbed a wheeled stair to peer into the rear cockpit. "The plan must have been for the courier and the pilot to fly to the next exchange point."

Steed nodded as he shouldered in beside her. "I think you're right. This plane has been modified for winter conditions. Too bad the cockpit isn't enclosed," he added.

"What's this?" Emma had climbed off the stair and noticed a piece of paper wedged in one of the front wing struts. It was rolled up around a small wooden item. She unwrapped it and raised her eyebrows knowingly as she showed it to Steed. It was a chess piece—a black rook.

Steed took the paper and examined it. "These are directions to the next checkpoint," he declared. "How are you at aerial navigation, Mrs. Peel?"

"If you know how to fly this thing by compass, I can get you there," she said confidently. "Does this old piece of junk have the range to make it?"

"It must, or The Ladja wouldn't have made it available," Steed reasoned. "We'll take over and pick up the pipeline from here. There should be instructions at every stop."

Emma gave him a level stare. "Until we get to the Iron Curtain?"

Steed grinned. "Maybe we'll stop just outside, on the Iron Windowsill." He climbed down from the stair and started for the hangar. "You stay here. I'll rummage around and pick up a few things we'll need."

Emma had reached into the cockpit and pulled out a flight manual entitled 'Your DeHavilland DH82A'. She called pointedly after him, "Make sure our diamond-toting friend isn't about to become active again."

Steed checked the hangar; the KGB man was still out. There was an exhibit of World War II flying equipment nearby, where he was able to scavenge up a few necessities. When he returned to Mrs. Peel on the tarmac, his bowler had been replaced with a leather flying helmet and goggles. He also wore a leather flight jacket with a jaunty green scarf.

Emma smiled as he handed her similar accoutrement. "Planning on doing much barnstorming?" she asked.

"It'll be quite cold up there. And this engine probably throws off enough oil to fully lubricate the rear rudder. Best to be prepared." He hung his bowler on a nearby fuel cart.

"Smuggling, 1930's-style," she said as she wrapped a blue wool scarf around her neck. Steed stowed the sack of diamonds in the cockpit.

"It does allow one to dispense with passports, customs, that sort of bother," he said reasonably. "A biplane is too small and usually flies too low to show up on radar, yet can avoid all of the heavily guarded routes by going 'as the crow flies'."

Emma looked up at the wings and the cowling in front of the cockpit. "Where are the machine guns?" she asked wryly.

"We're not likely to encounter the Red Baron," he grinned. "Anyway, without the proper equipment, we'd only shoot off our own propeller."

"I don't suppose this thing requires an ignition key?" she asked.

"You've seen the movies, Mrs. Peel. You'll have to help me start it. Give you another chance to use those lithe muscles of yours."

She wrinkled her mouth as she took up a position by the front propeller. Steed slid into the rear cockpit and started working with the instruments.

"Switches off, petrol on, throttle closed," he called out. "Give the propeller a few turns to suck in some fuel."

Emma pulled on the prop. It stopped halfway around, and she had to give it another tug to complete the revolution. She rotated it a few more times.

"Magneto on. Contact", Steed said mechanically. "Big heave this time, Mrs. Peel."

She gave it a full-force tug, making sure to swing her arms free from the propeller's path. The motor burst suddenly to life as a puff of smoke rose from the manifold. Noticing the plane starting to bump at the chocks in front of the tires, Emma quickly pulled them away. Steed opened the throttle and the noise grew steadily to a roar.

A loud bang like an engine backfire startled Emma. It took her a moment to realize it was a gunshot. She turned her head and saw the KGB man with the moustache running towards them from the hangar. She cursed silently to herself; they had forgotten to search him and take his weapon.

"Trouble," she sang out to Steed.

"He'll be here before we're ready to taxi," he cautioned. "See if you can't divert him."

"I'll divert him all right," she said resolutely, taking a few steps away from the plane. Apparently the gunman had been conservative for fear of damaging the plane; now that she was clear, he opened fire.

Emma instinctively sprinted for cover, away from the Tiger Moth. Less than two-dozen yards away was a large red tanker truck. She ducked behind the front bonnet, then a broad grin crossed her face as she looked down the length of the vehicle. It was a fire truck. She quickly uncoiled a hose from the side and spun the handle on the valve. The pressure rose immediately, and she jumped out from her cover just as the KGB man reached her.

"You again!" he cried.

"We have to stop meeting like this," Emma teased, aiming a solid stream of white foam at his legs. His feet were immediately swept out from under him and the gun was flung from his hand, just like in Tokyo. She stepped closer to cocoon his entire body in the thick fire suppressant. The KGB man spluttered angrily as he thrashed around in an attempt to stand, but couldn't raise himself from the slippery tarmac. He finally resigned himself to curling up in a ball to avoid the soaking.

Emma smirked as she shut off the hose. "You, sir, need to take up another line of work." The only answer was a soft groan of agreement from beneath the blanket of foam.

Steed had the engine going at full throttle as he taxied over to the tanker. Emma adjusted her helmet and jumped onto the wing to crawl into the front seat. She had barely managed to get strapped in before the biplane was barreling down the runway at eighty miles per hour. Then she felt the weight pressing her down as she suddenly realized they were airborne.

-oOo-

The Ladja stalked angrily towards the rear of the hangar with Vasily at his side. The KGB courier was standing there with drooping moustache, his teeth chattering, his body covered with foam.

Pehlovich shook his head as he turned to Vasily. "Problems with the pack animals," he said. "Good help is hard to find. Why don't you fly on ahead to Prague." It was an order, not a question.

"Do we know who it was?" Vasily asked. "Swiss authorities, or Interpol?"

"The pilot didn't know, and I haven't been able to get a coherent word out of _him_," Pehlovich answered, gesturing towards the KGB man. "But it doesn't matter; I'll take care of things from this end." Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spied the bowler hanging on the crossbrace of a nearby fuel cart. He stormed over and took it in his hands.

"Steed!" he hissed. "I should have guessed."

Vasily nodded grimly. "So he must still be alive."

"A situation I will rectify immediately. I'll meet up with you as soon as I can." Pehlovich turned back towards the hangar.

"What are you going to do?" Vasily asked.

The Ladja smiled.

"Change into my uniform."

-oOo-

Emma looked down to see the shadow of the Tiger Moth gliding across an unbroken field of white snow. Ahead loomed the Alps, towering as high as the service ceiling of the biplane; Steed would need to follow her instructions precisely to wend his way through. She had no qualms about the passage; The Ladja wouldn't have made the route so difficult that he would run any risk of losing the diamonds.

"Where to next, Mrs. Peel?" Steed called over the wind noise.

The chart in front of her indicated a direction change was required, and Emma reeled off a new compass bearing. "Stay on that course until we pass between those two peaks," she advised. "The total trip will be about three hundred miles. Can we make that?"

"We'll be running on vapor when we land," Steed answered. "No chance for sightseeing. You'll have to visit the Matterhorn some other time."

"Just as well," Emma said wryly. "I don't have my skis." She checked the map again. "Turn now," she commanded.

The buzz of the engine rose in pitch as Steed banked the aircraft into a turn that would take them directly towards the mountain range.

-oOo-

Two military policeman were guarding the main exhibit hangar when a smartly dressed officer approached them. They both snapped to attention and saluted. One of them recognized his superior, and the surprise was evident in his voice.

"Flight Lieutenant Peel!" he exclaimed. "I thought you were missing."

The Ladja smiled. "Actually, it's Squadron Leader now, Jimmy. My disappearance was part of a secret mission so I could drop off the enemy's radar. Mum's the word if anyone asks about me." His British accent was flawless.

"Of course, sir."

Pehlovich strolled over to the row of vintage biplanes parked in a row near the hangar. "I'm looking for a little recreation today. Are any of these antiques airworthy?"

"We just fixed up the Bristol Bulldog. I'm sure the Group Captain would have no problem with a test pilot such as yourself taking one out for a spin, if you so order it."

"I do so order," Pehlovich said with a smile. "I promise to bring it back in one piece."

The corporal moved closer and noticed something different about Peel. "Your skin is a bit red, sir."

Pehlovich winked. "I know, Jimmy. It's all part of the disguise. I've been thinking of dying my hair as well." He turned towards the plane. The soldier threw him a parting salute.

"Clear skies, Squadron Leader."

"Thanks, Corporal." The Ladja grabbed a flying helmet and goggles from a nearby table. When both guards had turned away, he slung two large ammo belts for the Vickers machine gun over his shoulder before climbing into the cockpit.

-oOo-


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The late afternoon skies were starting to cloud up as the Tiger Moth penetrated deeper into the passes of the Swiss Alps on Christmas Eve. The navigation had been easy so far, but the chill wind had forced both Steed and Emma to keep their scarves wrapped tightly across their faces except when talking. The monotonous drone of the engine was the only sound as it echoed off the nearby peaks.

"Not much in the way of holiday traffic up here," Emma commented.

Steed grinned. "Keep on the lookout for a right jolly old elf in a red sleigh."

"What do you think our final destination will be? Another military airfield?"

"Either that, or a small private strip," he answered. "What does the map say?"

"X marks the spot," she said wryly. "Other than that, there's no telling."

As she unfolded the chart for another look, Emma heard a strange sound carry across the distance. After a few moments, she recognized it as the chatter of machine guns. She turned her head and saw a second biplane rapidly closing on them. She made an urgent gesture to Steed indicating he should check behind them.

"What's that you said about not needing weapons?" she said grimly.

"It's probably the pilot and the courier we left back in Geneva," Steed reasoned. "They must've had a backup plane."

"I soaked our KGB friend down pretty thoroughly," Emma countered. "If he didn't dry off, he should be frozen solid by now."

The sound of the automatic fire was clearer now, more threatening.

Steed shook his head. "Not quite frozen, if he's manning the guns. They'll have our range any second." He shoved the control stick forward as Emma grabbed for a handhold.

"Fasten your lap-strap, Mrs. Peel," he shouted over the wind noise. "Time for some cross-country sightseeing."

As the Tiger Moth descended towards the ground, a snow-covered valley came into view, dotted with small farms. Steed traded altitude for speed as they dived into the glen at well over 100 miles per hour. Emma hunkered down behind the windscreen as the scenery swept by in an exhilarating rush. The second biplane fell far behind at the sudden maneuver.

Steed did a double roll as Emma clung on for dear life. The world spun crazily around her as she turned her head to see the four white trails from their wingtips twist into a helix behind them. She found herself laughing involuntarily at the thrill.

A herd of bemused cattle turned their heads in unison as the plane flashed by on the other side of the fence, its wheels nearly touching the ground. Emma could distinctly hear the alto clanking of the cowbells and the gruff lowing of disapproval. She turned her head to face forward and arched her eyebrows in alarm at the sight of an open barn door ahead of them. He wouldn't...

He had to. Not enough altitude. The Tiger Moth slipped through the opening with less than a yard to spare on either side. Hay flew everywhere. The sound of the engine echoed loudly in the enclosed space for a moment, then they were out the other side. Emma brushed pieces of straw from her goggles.

They passed through the center of a small village, the wash from their propeller causing the metal pail to bang against the sides of the town well. Steed picked up some altitude just in time to avoid crashing into a simple, unadorned Calvinist church at the far end of town. Emma envisioned angry, pitchfork-toting villagers mobbing them if they had crashed into the holy landmark.

Steed executed a banking turn and stood on a wingtip just above the church. The plane seemed to hang motionless for a moment, and Emma felt she could have reached over the side and plucked the cross from the tip of the steeple. A narrow Alpine pass exited the valley less than a half-mile away, and Steed's turn had positioned them for a run at it. He dropped altitude suddenly so that they were once again barely skimming the ground.

Emma put her hand to her belly as her stomach did flip-flops. She gave a light, lilting laugh from the tickled feeling, and noticed that she was out of breath. There was no denying that she felt a flutter of arousal at Steed's flying prowess. Her eyes focused on the control stick between her legs, moving so surely, so confidently, an echo of Steed's movements in the cockpit behind her. Emma rested her head back for a moment and surrendered to the motion of the plane. Steed was in complete control; lifting her up, swaying her from side to side, dropping her down with feathery lightness. Emma imagined herself lying back in bed, with Steed entirely in command of her sensations.

The sound of more machine gun fire disturbed her fantasy. She turned her head in amazement to see the second biplane hurdling over the top of the church, rudely clipping the steeple.

"He's still with us!" she exclaimed grimly. Their opponent must be an incredible pilot. Steed was proving himself to be the best pilot she had ever flown with, apart from Peter. It would take a prodigious talent to match Steed maneuver for maneuver.

Steed turned his head for a moment to identify their pursuer. "There's only one person in that plane," he announced. "Looks like a Bristol Bulldog. It has about twice our speed."

"What's its range?" Emma shouted.

"About the same as ours." Steed faced forward again and made sure the throttle was full open. "He can't afford extended dogfighting any more than we can."

"Is it really a dogfight if one of the planes is unarmed?" she posed. A row of holes suddenly appeared in the cloth wing in front of her.

"We've been hit!" she shouted. There was no answer from behind as the control stick careened wildly out of control between her knees.

"Steed!" she cried, fighting the rising panic. She thrust her hands forward and grabbed the stick, pulling it back just in time for the biplane to avoid the upcoming ground.

-oOo-

The Ladja grinned ferally as he closed in for the kill. The slow, unarmed Tiger Moth was no match for his military biplane. Steed was an impressive pilot, and had run a good chase, but the outcome was now inevitable. As Pehlovich drew nearer, he could already sense that Steed was having some difficulty—he may have been hit. If so, who was flying the plane?

Pyotr was now close enough to see that there was a person occupying the forward seat of the other craft. He noticed the low flip of auburn hair peeking out from the bottom of the leather helmet and cursed loud and long. Emma was flying the plane!

He should have known that Steed would have Emma in tow. Did the man have no consideration for her safety? _If Steed loved Emma—truly loved her, the way I do—he would never take her along on such dangerous adventures,_ Pehlovich thought. Emma belonged in the gym, fencing, or doing research in a lab; not running around with her life in jeopardy in a game of high-stakes espionage.

Shooting down the Tiger Moth was now out of the question. Even if Emma somehow survived the crash, Pehlovich would have to give her aid, and he couldn't risk her learning his secret. His only hope to win her love again was to convince her he had merely been lost in the Amazon; he saw that clearly now.

Gogol had been right all along. The Ministry knew. They had found out about his lingering love for Emma, recognized it as his Achilles' heel. Somehow, they had arranged for her to meet and become enamored with this Steed character. Knowing the Ministry, Steed probably wasn't even aware that he was being used.

Pehlovich set his mouth into a firm line. His only option now was to return to Geneva with the scant fuel he had left, then leapfrog ahead in the pipeline to Prague. From there he could get a real plane and his chessboard mask, and fly back to intercept the diamonds—and Emma.

The Ladja knew that his number-one priority must be to kill John Steed in order to have any chance to reunite with his wife. As he looked at the motionless figure in the rear seat of the Tiger Moth as it vanished in the distance, he realized that he might have already accomplished his objective.

-oOo-

"Steed," Emma called out steadily, trying to maintain calm as she struggled to keep the plane flying straight and level. "Tell me you're not hurt."

Her heart stopped beating for a moment as silence greeted her from the rear seat. Then, a spark of hope as she detected a groan above the sound of the engine.

"Don't leave me, Steed," she continued evenly. "I don't think I could take it—not this year, anyway. I... I need you."

Scattered clunking sounds indicated that Steed was now thrashing around behind her. Alive and kicking, or in his death throes?

"Steed, I have something to tell you. I—"

"Mrs. Peel?" he ventured groggily.

Emma breathed a sigh of relief as she felt Steed's sure hand regain command of the control stick. "Are you all right?" she called back to him.

Steed rubbed his head to clear the confusion. Reaching up to the left side of his helmet, he felt a crease gouged into the leather. The bullet had passed unbelievably close, but hadn't penetrated the skin. The force of its passing had been sufficient to knock him out briefly.

"Close call," he answered, wincing. "Somebody wanted me to part my hair on the other side. What's our enemy up to?"

"He suddenly stopped firing," Emma answered. "Maybe he ran out of ammunition."

"His machine guns could have jammed," Steed offered. "They did appear vintage. He'll probably just try to follow us until we land."

She shook her head to the negative. "He's turning back!" she announced in amazement.

Steed swiveled his head and saw that Mrs. Peel was correct; the pilot had indeed turned back. Surprising, since he was in a faster plane with the same range as theirs. Perhaps he knew something about what was waiting for them at the next checkpoint. Steed resumed flying the plane with a nagging feeling of unease.

-oOo-

The Tiger Moth had been airborne more than three hours. The propeller was starting to chop at the thin air as the route forced them to fly at a higher altitude.

"We're running out of fuel," Steed said casually, hiding his concern.

Emma frowned. "But I'm sure this is the exact course. There should be some place to land."

"We must have used up all our reserve evading the enemy plane," he reasoned. "I'm afraid I'll have to try to crash-land in the snow."

"Just a little farther," she said hopefully.

"It's not up to me."

"It'll be over the next rise. Think positive!"

It wasn't over the next rise, or even the next one. The engine started to sputter. Steed leaned forward in the cockpit.

"There may not be time to say this later, Mrs. Peel, but I want you to know something. I—"

"Look, Steed! Over there!"

Steed banked the plane. Then he saw the landing strip, carved into the mountainside.

"If there's no fuel there, I hope you'll be happy to live out your life with me as the wife of a high Alpine shepherd," he said with a wry grin.

Emma smiled genuinely. "There could be worse fates. I'm sure I'd make an excellent shepherd's wife. I could carve you one of those long horns that they trundle about on wheels."

"I've always wanted to drink beer out of one of those," he commented glibly. "Heavens, we may be about to become stranded somewhere without potables."

"We could have worse problems," she commented.

The engine stopped.

"Jinxer," Steed deadpanned.

"What now?"

"Deadstick landing. The controls are going to be very sensitive."

"How sensitive?"

"About as sensitive as a woman's—"

"Careful, Steed—"

"...neck."

Steed eased the control stick forward to send the Tiger Moth towards the side of the mountain. Emma never realized how much she missed the noise of the engine. The plane glided smoothly and silently above the snow like a stingray across the ocean floor. She dared not speak for fear of disturbing Steed's concentration.

A loud creak came from the wings as Steed attempted to drop the ailerons. The cable must have become fouled with ice, and now there was nothing to slow the plane's descent. They were going in too fast. The tires were only a few feet off the ground when they passed over the outer mark of the runway.

Steed jammed both feet on the rudder pedals alternately as the Tiger Moth skated across the macadam surface. The plane turned sideways, and air caught under the leading edge of the wing. Emma could feel the plane buck and tip as it tried to go into a cartwheel.

The next sound she heard was the high-pitched squealing of metal on metal as Steed locked up the brakes.

-oOo-


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Steed corrected the skid and managed to right the wobbling biplane as it hurdled towards the end of the mountain runway. Emma clung to the bag of diamonds with both hands as she watched pensively over the windscreen. They were rapidly running out of space on the macadam; at the far end was a utility shed and a small wooden cabin—presumably their lodging for the night—and it wouldn't do to crash into either.

Finally the brakes and the wheels started to gain traction in the snow and ice, and the Tiger Moth began to slow. The plane came to rest less than ten feet from the front of the cabin. Still shaken, Emma crawled out onto the wing and hopped to the ground.

Steed smiled. "Door-to-door service, madam."

"Any landing you can walk away from is a good one," she answered as she removed her scarf. "Will it ever fly again?"

He had left the cockpit and was examining the control surfaces on the wing. "None the worse for wear," he announced. "I can de-ice the cables tomorrow morning." He dropped to the ground next to Emma. "Time to de-ice ourselves now."

The moment called for physical contact, and Steed put his arm around Emma's shoulders. She pressed against him and pinched her cheeks to bring back feeling from the chill. Steed leaned his head close to hers.

"I think we've crossed the border into Austria," he said evenly. "Probably less than 100 miles from Innsbruck, maybe somewhere near the Brenner Pass."

"I have my passport, if you'd like to stamp it," she teased into his ear, "as you are the only government official present, of course."

"When it comes to the government, I'm strictly _unofficial,_" Steed said with a smile. "Just on holiday, remember?"

"If this is the first-class package, I'd hate to see the economy tour," she said wryly, looking at the plain wood structure where they would have to spend the night—and perhaps more. "It may not look like much," she commented, "but it just might be our home for the next few months."

Steed nodded. "At least the plane's undamaged, so we can fly out, if there's fuel."

Emma gestured towards the small building next to the runway. "There's a utility shed. Perhaps it contains some aviation-grade petrol. Shall we check?"

Steed looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. "It's Christmas Eve, Mrs. Peel. Why not wait until morning? Give us something to look forward to."

"I understand. When we wake up tomorrow, we can run out and see if Father Christmas has left us a surprise in the shed."

They both stood quietly for a moment, enjoying the warmth of their bodies together. Twilight had fallen, and the entire world around them had faded into a soft blend of purple and white. The only sound was a ticking noise as the plane cooled off, muffled by the snow that was just starting to fall. They had landed in their own silent Eden.

"It could be quite cozy," Emma offered optimistically.

Steed gave her an amused look. "I have everything I could possibly want—a World War II biplane, a bag of diamonds, and thou."

"I'd settle for a loaf of bread and a jug of wine," she smirked. "Do you suppose there's any food in this place?"

"If you whittle me a bow and arrow, I might be able to bring down a mountain goat. Otherwise, we're at the mercy of whatever's in the larder. Shall we go inside?"

"Would you like to carry me across the threshold?"

"Perhaps not wisest in my present condition," Steed answered. "I wouldn't want to damage the valuables. Or the diamonds." He touched his hand to his leather flying helmet. The bullet must have come closer than he originally thought; his fingers came away slightly damp with blood.

"My, I'd almost forgotten," Emma apologized. "Perhaps I should carry _you_ inside."

"We can lean on each other, Mrs. Peel." They stayed close together as they trudged through the fresh snow towards the front door. It had no lock, and they entered into a large room that was both spartan yet possessing a rustic charm.

"Now let me see that wound," Emma said in a motherly tone as she removed his helmet. Steed bent slightly so she could run her fingers through his wavy dark hair. "Been in the wars, have we?" she teased.

"You should have seen the other guy. Wore him out with my dazzling aerobatic skills."

"I was there, remember?" she chided. Then, almost under her breath, she added, "You were fantastic." She led him to a rocking chair in front of the fireplace in the main area, noticing a small room to one side which appeared to be a kitchen.

Emma patted him on the shoulder. "Just sit here and rest a moment while I check the pantry." She vanished through the doorway.

"Don't mind me," Steed called after her jokingly, rocking in his chair. "I'll languish here and wait for my old age pension to kick in."

The kitchen was filled with pots, pans, and utensils, but no food. Emma crossed her fingers as she spotted a small door near the rear. She opened it to find that it lead outside; a blast of wintry precipitation hit her in the face as she scanned the back porch. There were steps leading down to a cellar, and several large snowbanks flanked the path. She scooped a heaping amount of fresh snow into both a kettle and a large stewpot that she retrieved from the wall. When she returned to the main room carrying them, Steed was already kneeling in front of the fireplace, warming his hands.

Emma looked at him approvingly. "You've made a fire."

Steed grinned. "It's not like I had to rub two sticks together, or strike flint onto tinder." He shook a box at her. "Lucifers."

"How much wood do we have?"

"More than enough for the night. What have you got there?"

Emma smugly handed him the snow-filled containers and indicated the hooks over the fireplace. "Boil some water," she ordered.

"Planning to give birth?"

"Only to strong tea and some soup, if we can find the ingredients," she answered. "There appears to be a cellar out back. Do you feel up to checking it out?"

Steed rose to follow her. "Lead on, McDuff."

"Lay on," she corrected. She showed him the way through the back door, and he followed her through the heavy weather, down the stairs to the belowground storage area. Together, they used their shoulders to force open the stubborn wood door, and Emma gasped in surprise.

"Food!" she exclaimed. There were shelves and shelves of it, as well as dried meats hanging against the wall.

Steed checked a large sheet of jerky. "Suitably boiled and rehydrated, this should make a good stew," he commented.

"Here are some frozen carrots and peas," she added, slinging them over one arm. "We'll need a shopping cart."

Steed shook a metal container at her. "Here's a tin of caviar—The Ladja's men must eat in style. And here's a bottle of sherry."

"Are you sure it isn't cooking sherry?" she cautioned.

He took a small sip from the bottle and smacked his lips. "No salt. It's drinkable."

They picked up some tea and a few more items, then trudged back upstairs with their haul. Two hours later, the smell of food filled the cabin. Steed and Emma sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the fire, eating stew out of wooden bowls and drinking sherry from wooden cups. Emma raised her cup to him in toast, and he banged his into it with a clacking sound.

"That's what I like about traveling with you, Steed," she said grandly. "We always get to partake of fine dining." She licked some gravy from her fingers.

"Any meal is a banquet after what we've been through today," Steed countered. "For a moment, I thought we'd be stuck eating stone soup."

Afterwards, Emma leaned back on her elbows and sighed contentedly. Steed regularly managed to fill her up with warm, satisfying food and drink, and for some reason it always aroused her romantically. The way to her heart must be through her stomach. She looked over at the adventurous, unflappable, dear man who had wandered over to the cabin's only window to peer out into the night. She got up and nosed in next to him, rubbing her shoulder against his companionably. They both watched as the snow fell.

"Probably be more than a foot before it's all done," she commented.

"Not exactly the Christmas I had in mind," Steed said apologetically. "Although there is plenty of snow."

"Figgy pudding is overrated."

Steed nodded. "But I wouldn't say no to a rum cake."

Emma turned away and resumed her seat on the rug next to the fire. Steed lit some candles throughout the room before settling down only a few feet from her.

"I had a present for you, Mrs. Peel. Dom Perignon '36 and chocolates," he said softly. "I'm afraid now I'm empty-handed."

She slid across the rug and snuggled close to him, lightly taking hold of his fingers as she pulled his arms around her. "Now your hands aren't empty," she countered. "Keep me warm."

He obliged by allowing her to nestle between his legs. They sat together in silence for several moments.

"Penny for you thoughts?" Steed whispered.

"Mine are worth much more than that, but I'll always let you have them for free," Emma answered casually. She remained quiet for a minute as Steed allowed her to lounge in his arms.

"I feel as if something has been lifted from me," she said finally. "It was as if the ghost of Peter was up there flying with us. I know when he went, he must have gone quickly, like we almost did."

_More quickly than you know,_ Steed thought, remembering the crash of the Foxbat. _About Mach Two._ A sudden feeling of guilt swept over him. He had been keeping the secret of Peter Peel's Ministry connection too long.

"I have something to tell you, Mrs. Peel," he began seriously.

Emma turned her head to look at him. Her lips were only inches away from his.

"Your husband was actually on Ministry business when his plane went down," he said carefully.

She gave him a level gaze. "You mean his run-in with the Soviet jet may not have been an accident?"

"Something like that," Steed answered evasively.

"You realize you're probably breaking the Official Secrets Act by telling me this?"

"I've taken you into my confidence on many Ministry issues. They can only hang me once," he said wryly.

She smiled and looked deep into his eyes. "Thank you, Steed, for being honest with me."

_Honest except for which plane your husband was in,_ Steed thought.

Emma listened to the crackle of the fire and lapsed back into thought. "Peter was probably working on something very secret at the time of his crash." She said it as more of a question than a statement.

"Most likely," Steed answered. _Stealing a Russian jet..._

"In that case, we probably shouldn't tell anyone about the Amazon," she continued. "If anyone ever asks, just for the record, we met in an auto accident."

"You hit my Bentley?" he said with feigned astonishment.

"Why do you automatically assume that _I_ will be the one at fault in this little story?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "You were the one who stopped short."

Steed smiled. "It was your titian tresses that distracted me." He lightly touched his fingers to her hair. Emma idly caressed his hand and cuddled closer.

"Read me a bedtime story," she said imperiously.

"Our supply of reading material is limited. Unless you count the flight manual. Pretty dry reading."

Emma turned to him and smiled. "Embellish," she said.

Steed reached over for the worn paperback and flipped it open to the first grease-stained page.

"'Your DeHavilland DH82A'," he began. "Once upon a time there was a brave little Tiger Moth. Its service ceiling was 13,600 feet, and it could travel 300 miles on a tank of petrol..."

-oOo-

The next morning, the fire had gone out. Emma's eyes darted around in alarm at the strange, rustic room she found herself in. Then she remembered the events of the previous day, and how she came to be sharing a bed in this tiny cabin, banked in snow, somewhere high in the Austrian Alps. Her eyes fastened on her brown leather pants draped over the back of a nearby wooden chair. She had slipped them off sometime during the night before sneaking back in only her panties and sweater. It was impossible to sleep in leather. She was blissfully warm at any rate; Steed was spooning her, both arms wrapped around her waist, just as he had slept with her in Paris. Emma knew it was just force of habit—a sleeping position he had used with his last lover, no doubt; but she still couldn't resist snuggling closer into his embrace, if only for the additional warmth.

Steed had begun stirring next to her. He spoke softly into her ear.

"Happy Christmas, Mrs. Peel."

She smiled broadly. "Happy Christmas, Steed."

"Did Father Christmas leave us any presents?"

"Only what you have in your hands," she teased.

He smiled. "Then I'm indeed a wealthy man." They lay motionless for a minute, enjoying the feel of each other's bodies in such close proximity.

"Shall I get up and tend the fire?" Steed offered.

Emma kicked her feet like a spoiled child. "Nooo. You're warm. Stay next to me."

"We do seem to generate more heat when we're together."

"What's the plan for today?" she asked.

"If there's no fuel for the plane, we begin our lives together as Alpine farmers."

"I don't work with soil," Emma cautioned. "Except to analyze it for nitrogen content in a lab."

"Well, as long as you can milk cows and churn butter," Steed answered cheerily, tickling her belly. He arched an eyebrow in surprise when his hand came into contact with the waistband of her satin panties, suddenly realizing that she was wearing nothing else below the waist. His tickling had forced Emma to giggle in an undignified manner, and she firmly interlaced her fingers with his to stop his assault just inches away from the heart of her womanhood.

"Let's see now," she began matter-of-factly. "If we acquire some pigs and chickens to go with our dairy cattle, and work hard for several months, we may come up with enough raw material to make one of my famous 'hamlets'."

Steed nodded in mock seriousness. "Worth every bit of effort, from my palate's point of view."

"Still, I suppose there must be a path down the side of the mountain, if worst comes to worst," she declared.

"Planning to go in search of a grocer?"

"I could always take the diamonds and leave you tied up here," she said playfully, grabbing the fingers of his other hand.

"You, tie _me_ up?"

Her eyes were laughing as she lightly grappled with him beneath the covers. Even as she faced away from him, she intertwined one of her legs around his for leverage. She used her ankle to pull his calf forward, pivoting her hip into a sensitive spot, causing him to squirm uncomfortably.

"I believe I could take you in a wrestling bout, Mr. Steed. Then I just make my way back to civilization, and add a significant increase to the Knight fortune."

Steed's lips tickled her right ear as he spoke. "And miss the excitement of my company? How ever would you survive?"

"I might manage," she countered half-heartedly, knowing that even as she said it, it wasn't true. She had come to rely on these out-of-control adventures with Steed to escape her boredom and forget her widowhood.

"At any rate, I'm sure any path out of here is impassable until the spring," Steed continued. "So if there's no fuel, we're stuck here until March. Or until The Ladja sends a heavily armed assault team in by plane."

"There's an unhappy thought," Emma added solemnly. "We'll need to come up with a defensive strategy."

Steed nodded. "If The Ladja's men never intended to carry on to the next checkpoint in the Tiger Moth, the only plan that makes sense would be to send a second plane here for the pickup, one with enough fuel to round trip from its starting point. We'll need to either overpower the crew of that plane, or hide ourselves and the Tiger Moth so they think the diamonds never made it here."

Emma nodded at his reasoning. "I'm sure we'll find plenty of fuel," she said brightly. She untangled her bare legs from Steed's, though she remained cradled in his arms. "Father Christmas has never let me down."

"Nor I," he said happily.

-oOo-

Steed stoked the fire, pretending not to notice Mrs. Peel as he watched her from the corner of his eye. She was exquisite—the small band of flat-stomached midriff and navel peeking out below her sweater, her shapely and muscular legs, the pink satin panties stretched taut over her backside and wrinkled between her thighs. She demurely turned away from him as she slipped her leather pants back on. Steed slung the bag of diamonds over his shoulder.

"Ready to check the utility shed?" he said with a grin.

"Me first," Emma insisted as she shrugged on her flight jacket. "I get to open the presents."

"After you," he said gallantly, letting her step out the front door.

They trudged through a foot of new-fallen snow towards the small wooden shack next to the runway. As Emma opened the door, there were two large objects covered with grey canvas tarps in the center of the shed.

"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe," Emma counted seriously, indicating the bundle on the right.

Steed pulled the tarp aside to reveal a portable aviation fuel cart. The tanks were full. A folded-up chart on the handle had a chesspiece sitting atop it—a black rook.

"Good old Ladja," Steed said cheerily. "He certainly knows how to run a smuggling operation."

"Which will make it all the more enjoyable when we shut him down," Emma declared.

"I think it's very likely that The Ladja will be waiting for us somewhere in the pipeline," Steed continued. "Maybe even the next stop."

Emma nodded. "Good. I look forward to renewing the relationship by personally acquainting him with my karate _kin-geri._"

"Flying spin kick?"

"Front groin kick."

"Just make sure he can talk afterward. We'll need information."

"Oh, he'll talk all right," she said wryly. "He'll be able to sing opera—the women's lines."

Steed carefully examined the pump and hose on the cart.

"I'll have no problem fueling up the biplane," he announced. "But clearing the runway—that's another story. With all the snow overnight, it could make takeoff difficult."

Emma gave him a warm smirk. "Always trust in Father Christmas." She reached for the bundle on the left and swept the canvas tarp aside. Underneath was a small tractor with a plow blade.

Steed grinned broadly. "God bless us everyone."

-oOo-

Steed had just finished filling the Tiger Moth when Emma drove triumphantly back on the tractor. She shut off the engine and dismounted to huddle next to him.

"It's quite cold at this altitude," she commented.

"Excellent work, Mrs. Peel," Steed said genuinely. He looked down the now-clean expanse of runway to the far end. Emma had plowed a cursive letter "E" into the fresh snow just to the right of the outer marker.

"Signing your work?" Steed teased.

Emma playfully pinched his arm. "Just wanted you to know which way was East," she said.

-oOo-

Pyotr Pehlovich stamped in the cold at an abandoned airfield twenty miles south of Prague in Czechoslovakia. He had taken a charter jet overnight to ensure that he made it to the next stop in the pipeline first. Assuming Steed and Emma had survived to land at the stopover in the Austrian Alps, it was still unlikely that they would attempt to continue on right away—they would probably opt to spend the night. His face wrinkled bitterly at the thought of his wife sharing the small cabin with the British agent.

Vasily approached from a nearby hangar. "I take it you had no luck intercepting Steed?"

The Ladja shook his head. "He had Emma with him. I tried to stop them, but I had to turn back. The speed of the Bristol is about double the Tiger Moth, but the range is about the same," Pyotr explained. "I may have managed to shoot Steed, though," he added hopefully.

"What is your plan?" Vasily asked.

"Now is our chance," Pehlovich said confidently "We must take Emma from Steed, while we're close enough to smuggle her behind the Iron Curtain."

"Don't forget the diamonds," Vasily ventured.

The Ladja nodded. "Those as well. I will have my cake, and eat it too."

-oOo-


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Emma looked over the side of the plane at the barren countryside below. The day was overcast, but at least the snow had stopped falling. Almost three hours had passed since takeoff, and they were once again starting to run low on fuel. The Ladja certainly believed in cutting things close with his pipeline, she thought. Emma examined the flight chart to make sure they were on course.

"I'm sure we've crossed the border into Czechoslovakia," she announced.

"Home of Good King Wenceslas," Steed said jovially. "Just in time for the holidays."

"I don't know how you can be so carefree," she scolded. "We've just flown into a Warsaw Pact country carrying at least a million pounds worth of diamonds in a rickety biplane."

"She's not rickety, are you, old girl?" Steed said as he affectionately patted the side of the Tiger Moth.

"What makes you think we can get away with it?" Emma continued.

"We're invincible, you and I," he said seriously.

"You really believe that?"

"I do, Mrs. Peel."

"I'll try to remember that when we're stuck in a Communist prison."

"Stiff upper lip," Steed continued cheerfully. "The Ladja will soon be in our sights."

She suppressed a grin. "We're unarmed, remember? He's the one with the machine guns."

"Ah, but we have the brains. He doesn't stand a chance."

-oOo-

A long black limousine pulled up on the tarmac fifty feet away from where Pyotr Pehlovich stood with his assistant Vasily. The Ladja raised a single hand in greeting to the approaching car. "Here comes the next link in the pipeline," he said.

"Didn't you tell him to stay away? That we had problems?" Vasily asked incredulously.

"There wasn't time. Besides, we have no problems. I can fly back into Austria, kill Steed, then snatch Emma and the diamonds."

"They could both be flying here at this very moment."

"Even better," Pehlovich said casually. "Saves me the time of going after them."

Vasily shook his head. "You are playing a dangerous game, my friend. The Golem of Prague is the most important KGB agent in Central Europe. Even Gogol will not protect you if this exchange fails."

Pehlovich pulled out his nine-millimeter Mauser and checked to see that it was fully loaded. "I'm prepared for anything," he said.

The limousine parked with the engine still running in the chill morning air. A stone-faced man in a black wool coat exited the rear door of the car. He walked slowly over to Pehlovich.

"Ladja," he nodded curtly.

"Golem," Pehlovich answered.

The Golem checked his watch. "Has your courier arrived?"

At that moment, the insistent buzz of a biplane's engine became audible. Vasily looked around nervously, but Pehlovich remained cool.

"That's him now," The Ladja nodded.

"Excellent timing," The Golem said.

Pehlovich thought so too; things were definitely going his way. He took Vasily to one side and spoke in a low voice.

"When the biplane lands, you must capture and abduct Emma. You have the handcuffs and airline tickets?"

Vasily nodded.

"Leave Steed to me," Pehlovich said. He turned back around and pulled the black-and-white chessboard mask down to cover his features.

The Golem frowned. "What's that for?"

"Just a precaution. I'm a familiar face in England. No need for the courier to recognize me."

"The same is true of me," The Golem said testily. "Keep him at a distance."

"Of course."

-oOo-

As the Tiger Moth approached the abandoned airfield, Steed banked the plane so they could see over the side.

"This must be the place," he commented. "Looks like we have a welcoming committee." He circled and chose an approach that would keep them away from the group of people by the hangar. The biplane settled smoothly towards the ground under his guidance.

"Chessboard mask at nine o'clock," Emma sang out.

"I see him," Steed answered as the wheels touched down on the runway. "I'll taxi around back of the hangar. That'll give us a chance to split up and find cover before they can reach us."

"What do we do then?"

"Improvise. You do that voodoo that you do so well."

"I liked it better when you just said things like 'Keep our wits about us'," she teased.

Steed pulled the plane to a stop. Luck was against them; both sets of hangar doors were open, so The Ladja and his men could run straight through instead of having to go around.

Emma hopped off the wing. "They'll be here any minute," she called out. After a quick calculation, she assessed the best spot for an ambush. "I'll be over there," she said, pointing to some crates near the wall. "You take the other side."

Steed nodded. "I'll start refueling, just in case we need to make a quick getaway." He wheeled a cart next to the biplane, shoved the nozzle into the tank, and set the flow rate to 'low'. Then he grabbed the bag from the cockpit and ran to the other side of the hangar to hide.

-oOo-

Pehlovich and Vasily walked cautiously into the hangar. The Golem remained waiting outside.

"Emma went that way," The Ladja said, pointing to the right. "Don't use your gun. I assume you can take a woman in hand-to-hand combat?"

Vasily snorted. "I could have had her in Paris, if you hadn't lost your mask."

Pehlovich adjusted the chessboard mask and turned away. "I'll take Steed. Let me know as soon as you have Emma prisoner."

Vasily carried a satchel in one hand as he silently crept along a section of cinderblock wall. Up ahead, he could see The Ladja's wife waiting to ambush him. He pretended not to see her as he slinked past.

Emma leaped from hiding, hoping to achieve the element of surprise, but Vasily turned knowingly and dodged free of her attack. He caught her with a glancing blow from his fist, and she reeled for a second before regaining her balance. With a grunt of exertion, Emma aimed a devastating kick between his legs, but he deftly got the satchel below his waist in time to block it. Her instep dented the side of the leather case, and Vasily winced at the effect it would have had on his manhood had it connected.

He dropped the satchel and dived at Emma's waist, hurling her to the ground. As they grappled on the floor, Vasily used his strength to achieve a superior position and quickly wrapped his forearm around her neck, raising her to her feet.

Emma struggled helplessly as she realized Vasily had her in a chokehold. She jammed her elbow back into his ribs, twice; it had no effect. Her heel sought for an opening between his ankles, but his legs were pressed tightly together to protect his vulnerable groin. Spots started to swim in front of Emma's eyes as Vasily grabbed hold of one of her arms. She waved her only free arm, hoping to attract Steed's attention. He must not have seen, or else was already engaged with The Ladja.

She moaned softly and let her body go completely limp in submission. Vasily reflexively loosened his stranglehold a centimeter, just as she had hoped. Emma used the opening to desperately lurch her entire body forward, straining against his grip. Vasily held fast, but she gained enough room to swing her right leg; she kicked backward and buried her white ankle boot into the midpoint of his shin. He let out a pained cry and released her. Emma gasped for air as she staggered away.

Vasily was slow to recover, being forced to favor one leg, and she was able to seize the initiative. Emma kicked once high and once low, and the Russian agent reeled. She closed in and threw a few sharp blows with the edge of her hand against his neck. He remained standing.

_What's keeping him up?_ she thought. Emma remembered the wicked punch to the stomach that Vasily had given her in Paris, and decided turnabout was fair play. She balled up her fist and buried it in his solar plexus, watching in relief as he finally slid to the floor.

Emma knew from experience that she had used enough force to incapacitate him for at least a minute, so she picked up his satchel, hoping to examine the contents for any information about the pipeline. She kept one eye on her prone adversary while she rooted through the kit.

A small compartment inside contained airline tickets, handcuffs, a blindfold, and a fake passport. Emma's mouth hung open for a moment in surprise when she saw that it was her own photograph in the passport. This wasn't part of a plan to exchange counterfeit money or smuggle diamonds. It was a plan to abduct her!

_Me?_ she thought. _What could they possibly want with me?_ She supposed they could be trying to get ransom from the Knight Industries fortune, but that seemed pretty pointless if you had been printing your own money and were now dealing in sacks of diamonds.

The only possible explanation was that the KGB had detected how much Steed cared for her. They could use her as leverage to force him to do their will.

She heard the sound of a scuffle on the other side of the hangar and saw the menacing figure in the chessboard mask. Steed was going to need her help.

-oOo-

"Come out, Steed," The Ladja ordered.

Steed briefly debated darting for a stack of crates and trying to topple them, then he saw the Mauser in Pehlovich's hand. He smiled and approached his adversary.

"Ah! It's you again," Steed said affably. "The world is large, but we seem to occupy the same real estate an extraordinary amount of the time."

"You will soon be occupying a fixed piece of real estate, permanently," The Ladja threatened.

Steed ignored him. "Always the mask," he continued. "I shall have to start calling you Checkers."

"Hand me the bag, Mr. Steed. I'm going to shoot you, but I don't want to get blood all over the diamonds."

"Why not? A nice red stain, and they should just about match the color of your skin," Steed said. His foot inched imperceptibly towards an air hose on the floor.

"Those belong to The Golem of Prague," Pehlovich said. "It's very expensive to run the operation here in Central Europe."

"The Golem," Steed said in amazement. "Now there's a man I'd like to meet."

"The only one you're going to meet is your Maker—" Pehlovich's taunt was cut short as Steed whipped the air hose upwards with his foot. The Mauser was knocked free, but too far away for Steed to dive after it; instead he took off at a run for the front of the hangar. By the time Pehlovich recovered his gun and gave chase, Steed had ambled up to the stern figure waiting in the cold just outside.

Steed extended his hand to the stone-faced man and an instant flash of recognition swept over him.

"Ambassador Dubcek," Steed said politely. "You're The Golem of Prague?"

The Golem's eye's widened in anger as Pehlovich strode up behind Steed.

"Is this your courier?" The Golem challenged flatly. "This man is a British agent!"

"Double agent," Pehlovich said smoothly. "Steed's going to be working for our side now. If he wants his Emma to stay alive, that is."

The Golem frowned as he looked squarely at The Ladja. "_You_ are the only double agent cleared to know my true identity, not him. This is a serious breach of protocol that must be reported." He pulled his coat tighter around him. "So you are working for us now, Steed?"

"That would appear to be the case," Steed said glibly.

The Golem turned to Pehlovich. "If he's on our side, why are you holding a gun on him?"

"Small disagreement over payment," Pehlovich lied.

"Then eliminate him at once," Dubcek ordered. "That will solve all of our problems."

Steed turned towards Dubcek. "So you're the next link in the pipeline? You should have gotten yourself a mask, like Checkers here. Let's see... what would be appropriate for a Golem? One that looks like rock. That's what I'll call you two—Rocky and Checkers."

The Golem's face showed virtually no expression. "Kill this babbling jackanapes," he said evenly.

Steed smiled hollowly. "Looks like you've lost your gift for diplomacy, Ambassador." He hefted the filled sack in his hands. "Heavens, this must be the entire KGB bankroll for Central Europe next year. Shame if anything happened to it."

The Ladja chambered a round in the Mauser. "Hand it over, Steed."

From the corner of his eye, Steed saw a flip of auburn hair bobbing around a nearby row of crates as Mrs. Peel stealthily sprinted into position. A warm smile came to his face.

"Happy to oblige." Steed hurled the bag directly into the face of The Golem, who lost his balance and fell to the ground.

Emma came running up behind her husband and chopped at his arm just as he turned his gun on Steed and fired. His aim was altered and the shot grazed the sleeve of Steed's jacket. The Ladja brought the gun back to bear on Steed, ready to fire a second shot, this one sure to be fatal.

"No!" Emma cried fiercely as she grabbed The Ladja's shoulders from behind. Aiming just below his backside, she drove her knee upwards between his legs with a sudden thrust, making solid contact where it counted the most. Pehlovich squeezed his thighs together and groaned, dropping the Mauser. Emma watched in satisfaction as he doubled over, obligingly exposing the back of his neck. She struck the nape sharply with the edge of her hand, and The Ladja slid to the ground. He was completely helpless as she quickly knelt beside him to remove his mask.

The sounds of gunshots caused her to recoil. Several armed gunmen had spilled out of the doors of the limousine and were providing covering fire for The Golem. Steed picked up the Mauser and motioned for Emma to follow as they ran back through the hangar towards the Tiger Moth.

Bullets continued to ricochet around them as they hid behind some empty fuel drums. At least, Emma hoped they were empty.

"Are you all right?" she asked Steed, tenderly stroking his arm.

"That's two near misses," he said, poking his index finger through the hole in his leather flight jacket. "Only seven lives left."

"Every time I get close to unmasking The Ladja, something goes wrong," Emma sighed in frustration.

"At least you were able give him his just deserts again," Steed countered. "I thought it was supposed to be a front kick."

"Just as effective from behind," she answered. "And as satisfying. I take it you have a plan?"

"Yes. We get back to the Tiger Moth and hotfoot it back to Austria. Or coldfoot it, as the case may be."

Emma frowned. "Without the diamonds?"

Steed picked up a pebble and tossed it against a wooden crate twenty feet away. A flurry of gunfire tore the container into splinters.

"We could always rush The Golem's men armed only with this," he offered, brandishing the Mauser.

"The Golem?" Emma asked with a quizzical expression.

"Didn't you hear The Ladja?" Steed asked.

"No, he'd stopped talking by the time I arrived. Who's The Golem?"

"The stone-faced man from the limousine—the next link in the pipeline. The KGB's chief operative in Central Europe."

"The Golem." Emma wrinkled her mouth. "How come we don't get secret names?"

Steed smiled. "Would you like one?"

"Well, it does give one that certain larger-than-life aura..."

"You _are_ larger-than-life, Mrs. Peel. Trust me."

"What name would you choose for me?"

"Something feline," he said thoughtfully. "How about 'The Panther'?"

"Hmm. Not bad. What about you?"

"How about 'The Lion'?" he suggested.

Emma grinned. "More like 'The Satyr'," she teased.

Gunshots started to sound from two different sides as The Golem's men attempted to trap them in a crossfire.

"We can use the gun for cover to reach the plane," Steed said. "Ladies first."

Emma inclined her head graciously, then ran at an all-out sprint towards the Tiger Moth. Surprisingly, no one shot at her, so Steed had a full complement of ammunition when he made his dash. She was just removing the fuel nozzle when Steed arrived, bullets whizzing in the air around him. He checked the gauge on the cart.

"Did we pump enough in?" Emma asked.

"I hope so," Steed called out as he maneuvered his way into the rear cockpit using the plane as a shield. "We need to make it back to our mountain hideaway to refuel for the trip to Geneva."

The Ladja had found a weapon and was running through the hangar directly towards the biplane. Steed fired several shots with the Mauser, forcing the Ladja to throw himself to the ground.

Emma started rotating the propeller for suck-in. The Ladja didn't fire at her from his prone position, even though she was completely exposed. Instead, he concentrated his shots on the cockpit where Steed was working the throttle. Emma gave a strong tug, and the engine roared to life as fuel surged through it. She jumped on the wing as Steed turned the plane and taxied for the runway.

They enjoyed a brief respite from gunfire as they drove along the outside of the hangar towards the front. Emma had become quite adept at crawling into the trainee cockpit while the plane was in motion. She found her seat and strapped herself in, calling back to Steed, "I wonder why he didn't fire at me?"

"Who?" Steed asked.

"The Ladja."

"I guess he knows that I'm the pilot, and if he kills me, he cuts off our escape," Steed offered. "Maybe he had limited ammunition. Or was squeamish about shooting a woman. I was the only one armed."

But Emma knew the real reason. The Ladja had been scheming to kidnap her. She had some value to him. If his sole reason was to have a lever against Steed, why try to kill Steed? The Ladja's reason for wanting her must be something different. She decided against telling Steed, at least until the situation became clearer.

As the plane emerged around the front of the hangar, The Golem's men opened fire with a withering barrage, ending any question about _their_ willingness to shoot a woman. But Steed already had the Tiger Moth up to speed, and within seconds they were lifting off from the runway, winging their way into the cloudy Christmas sky.

-oOo-

Vasily staggered towards the front of the hangar, followed by several of The Golem's bodyguards. Pyotr Pehlovich was already standing there next to Ambassador Dubcek.

The Golem watched as the biplane vanished over the horizon. "You had better be right about Steed being a double agent," he said angrily. "If my identity is revealed..."

"Let's go look at the diamonds," The Ladja said smugly. "Once our business is transacted, I'll get in a plane and personally take care of Steed."

"Who was that woman with him?" The Golem asked.

Pehlovich gazed distantly for a moment before answering.

"She is of no importance," he said.

-oOo-


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"...Twenty-seven, twenty eight." Emma finished pointing her finger at the wing of the biplane. "Twenty-eight holes," she said casually.

"We should blend in just fine by the time we get back to Geneva," Steed joked. "This plane's starting to look like Swiss cheese."

Emma had to admit she was starting to become attached to the 'brave little Tiger Moth' of Steed's bedtime story. The plane was doggedly cutting through the higher altitudes of the Austrian Alps, having carried them safely into and out of danger.

"At least we're back on the right side of the Iron Curtain," Steed offered cheerily.

"Yes, but The Ladja's still behind it," Emma said, her voice tinged with disappointment. "And he has the diamonds. We came away with nothing."

Steed grinned. "We came away with everything. Happy Christmas, Mrs. Peel."

Emma looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Happy Christmas, Steed."

-oOo-

The Golem was sitting in the rear seat of the limousine while The Ladja leaned in through the door. The heavy canvas sack was passed between them.

"I think you'll find the quality and clarity outstanding," Pehlovich boasted. "Straight from our broker in Antwerp. You should be able to convert them into the equivalent of at least a million English pounds."

The Golem opened the bag and furrowed his brow. "Is this some sort of joke?"

He inverted the bag, and hundreds of green spheres fell out, bouncing off the carpeted floor and spilling out onto the tarmac.

"Frozen peas?"

-oOo-

The Tiger Moth made a perfect landing at the snowy airstrip high in the Alps.

"Are you sure there's sufficient fuel here?" Emma asked as Steed taxied towards the utility shed.

"I checked before we left," he answered happily. "There should be enough for us to be in Geneva by nightfall. Do you know how to run the pump on the cart?"

Emma nodded. "Why?"

Steed got out of the cockpit and headed towards the cellar. "I'm just going to pick up some provisions."

The plane was almost refueled by the time Steed returned with a large bag of frozen vegetables slung over one arm.

"What's that?" she asked.

He grinned. "Alpine ice. The kind that never melts." He shook the bag as awareness dawned on Mrs. Peel.

"But if the diamonds are here," she said, "what did you let The Ladja get away with?"

"He spends too much time hiding from the sun behind that mask," Steed answered wryly. "I thought it would do him good to eat more veggies."

Emma couldn't suppress a smile. "His superiors are going to be very cross with him."

Steed climbed back into the cockpit. "You know, for a double-agent super-spy, The Ladja really isn't too difficult to outsmart," he remarked. "Either that, or you and I have an uncanny insight into the way he thinks. Almost as if I was his twin, and you had known him all your life..."

-oOo-

Several days later, the head of the KGB summoned Pyotr Pehlovich into the subterranean office below the Kremlin.

"First the assassination in Tokyo, then the counterfeit operation in Paris, and now the diamond smuggling to Prague," Anatol Gogol began. "Your record is poor indeed."

"If the Ministry wasn't already privy to all of our intelligence, they would have never been able to send Steed in," Pehlovich objected. "We need to look to our own internal security."

"Perhaps. But you foolishly compromised the identity of The Golem. You have virtually single-handedly destroyed our clandestine operation in Central Europe. And all because of your obssession with your wife and Steed."

Pehlovich said nothing. Gogol lit a cigarette.

"I like you Pyotr. I really do," he said as he exhaled a puff. "But I think it would do you some good to spend some time up north, the Kamchatka Peninsula. Give you a chance to think things over."

Pehlovich's face grew pale. "_Gulag?_"

"Only for a year or two. The _zona_ will help you gain focus." Gogol made a gesture with his free hand. Two Soviet security men entered the room, on cue.

"Your Emma will still be waiting for you when you get out," Gogol said evenly.

-oOo-

Charles, the Ministry's Head of Operations, was relaxing in the office of Sir Gerald Tarrant. The events of the past three months could not have pleased the two men more.

Charles shook his head. "Ambassador Dubcek is The Golem. Hardly seems believable."

Tarrant smiled genuinely. "He's just been declared _persona non grata_ throughout all the NATO ally countries. His days as an ambassador—and spy—are over."

"An incredible intelligence coup, and all on a fluke meeting," Charles said. "I've only worked with him a few years, but now I'm convinced: John Steed is the luckiest man alive."

Tarrant nodded and started to fill the bowl of his pipe. "Squadron Leader Peel is out of play," he said succinctly.

"Pehlovich has been killed?"

"Almost as bad. Gulag." Tarrant took a few puffs. "We just got the intelligence in this morning."

Charles nodded solemnly. "What about Steed and Mrs. Peel?"

"There's no need for Steed to work with Mrs. Peel any more," Tarrant declared. "But at this point, I don't think we could separate them if we tried. And we certainly wouldn't want to try; they work very well together. Our top priority now is to make sure that Mrs. Peel never learns the truth about her husband in the future."

"But with Pehlovich in the _zona_, what future is there to worry about?"

"Things change. Politics change. He might be released or escape. Besides, I wasn't just thinking about our ability to use Pehlovich down the road. We wouldn't want Mrs. Peel to take a dim view of the Ministry and stop helping us. She has to think we're trustworthy."

-oOo-

John Steed entered the nightclub with Emma Peel lightly holding his arm. He was dressed in a tuxedo and bow tie, along with a formal top hat. Emma was in a thin black evening gown that clung to her body in all the right places, seductively revealing the delicate treasures beneath, from the proudly pointed nipples of her breasts to the cleft and rounded cheeks of her behind. She wore her hair down and loose; and the soft, relaxed curl caused it to spill around her shoulders just like the Renaissance portraits Steed was always comparing her to.

Emma looked warmly at Steed. He certainly cleaned up well, especially in a tux. She had always attempted to remain publicly aloof of John Steed, but tonight he seemed to be having a hard time keeping his hands off her, and truth be told, she didn't mind. It was New Year's Eve, and they had both dipped into the champagne at his apartment. And the dress she had chosen was the thinnest, most daring formal wear she owned. Small wonder that he took every opportunity to touch her hair, hold her waist, or slip an arm across the small of her back. Perhaps it was her recent freedom from the ghost of Peter, precipitated by their adventure in the Alps, but she found she was starting to enjoy the feel of Steed's hands on her body.

A table for two was waiting next to the window, just the right distance from the dance floor and the orchestra. Steed held her chair for her, then sat down opposite wearing a Cheshire-cat grin on his face.

"I have something for you, Mrs. Peel." He produced a small box. "Belated Christmas gift."

"If it's the Dom Perignon and chocolates, it must be a sip and a truffle," Emma teased. She flipped open the box and drew her breath at the glittering jewelry inside.

Steed gave her a dazzling smile. "Posts and dangles, as requested."

"Steed, I can't keep taking expensive gifts from you." She tested one on her ear in spite of her protest.

"They're not from me," he added glibly. "The Swiss and Belgian governments chipped in together for a reward."

"That should be your reward," she said seriously. "You were the one who outsmarted The Ladja, retrieved the diamonds, and discovered the identity of The Golem. I was just along for the ride."

"The reward is as much yours as it is mine. I could never have survived without my co-pilot and navigator. Not to mention the karate."

She held the two sets of diamond earrings in the palm of her hand. "Are these from The Ladja's personal stash?"

"Pick of the litter," Steed grinned. "Pulled them from the gunny sack myself. Oops, I mean the bag of veggies."

She nodded solemnly. "Then I'll value them all that much more."

A waiter arrived with the first of many glasses of champagne. Emma kicked off one of her heels below the table and rubbed her bare foot suggestively against the leg of Steed's slacks, just like she had wanted to do in Tokyo.

"It certainly was an interesting Christmas," she said coyly.

"I'm sure next year's will be less dramatic," Steed said. "We can have a Christmas tree. Or two."

"Not too many." Emma smiled wickedly as she continued her assault on Steed's calf beneath the table. "Are you planning to have more holidays in 1965?"

Steed was clearly enjoying her hidden attentions. He finished his glass and signaled for another. "I've had enough traipsing across the world this past year," he said. "Next year, I'm going to insist I restrict all my activities to the island."

"No more adventures together?" she said coolly; but inside she felt a stab of disappointment. Her foot fell limply to the floor.

"We will always have adventures, Mrs. Peel," Steed answered, looking deep into her eyes. "As long as you're willing to answer my knock at the door, telling you we're needed."

"I suppose it's the least I could do," she smiled. "I did run into the back of your Bentley, after all."

He winked back at her. "The fault was entirely mine."

The band had stopped playing and noisemakers were starting to sound throughout the nightclub. Steed leaned close to her as voices around the room joined in the countdown.

"5... 4... 3... 2... 1..."

Emma's heart fluttered as Steed tenderly pressed his lips to hers.

"Happy New Year, Mrs. Peel."

"Happy New Year, Steed."

He clinked his glass against hers, and they interlaced their arms before drinking. Steed gave her a warm smile as they finished their champagne.

On an impulse, Emma took the glass from his hand and set it on the table next to hers. She wore an impish grin as she looked into his twinkling gray eyes. Then she slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him once, deeply, in the spirit of the season.

-oOo-


End file.
